Chocolate Fic for koneho
To: koneho
From: frostbittenlove
Title: Like a Warm Buttered Gun
Pairing: Kato Shigeaki x Kitagawa Keiko
Rating: PG-13
Summary: [AU] Kato Shigeaki did the unthinkable, but Keiko, being Keiko, begged to differ - it wasn’t unthinkable, it was just imperative.
A/N: Written for koneho. Because we both agree that Shige needs to be winsome in life, too. I hope it’s not OOC for your tastes. ;A; Many thanks go out to my wonderful betas, R, K and C.
She sat on the soft chair, watching her reflection, her dainty hands fiddling with the lace fabric of her gloves as a young woman fussed over her hair and two others ran around in circles behind her to arrange the long, flowing trail, their actions reflective of the storm that went on in her mind.
The stylist was gushing at her and she could only throw in a small smile; the other patting her bare shoulder lightly at the sight of her apprehension. It’d be over and done with soon, she had said, a seemingly-knowing smile on her young face, completely misunderstanding her growing restlessness for wedding jitters.
Keiko vaguely wondered, really, if this woman knew just what the feeling of a to-be-wedded person would be, when she looked, well, gay. Not to be discriminating, but she had, frankly, not heard of a homosexual getting married. Not in Japan, at least.
She had been a bit doubtful of her (his?) sudden appearance in her designated dressing room, bumbling on and about how she was the replacement sent by the stylist she had enlisted first-hand who had a freak accident with a rolling pin and some measuring cups, but her original stylist had phoned in to verify her claims - and so at the last minute, she had been placed in the newbie’s care. Keiko had almost panicked.
Almost.
Because no matter how dubious she had initially seemed, the young wo-stylist had done her part brilliantly - her hair had been styled into a fashionable bun that allowed room for her slender neck to be exposed by her off-shouldered, off-white, lace dress. “So you can take off that hideously long trail of yours easily,” the stylist continued, eyebrows waggling, and it took all of her willpower not to punch the living daylights out of the callous young woman, because oh dear, she did not just outright lambaste her choice of clothing, or did she?
But then again, it’s pretty normal to make small talk. (And equally abnormal to aggravate the bride on her wedding day, but this young stylist was far from normal, in her opinion.)
So instead, she merely shrugged; a cross between a scowl and a smile on her lips. “Thanks.” She gritted out, hoping it was enough to get the other off her case.
“Ah, so beautiful~” A sigh, “You’re too beautiful for him!” and then she threw a wink with a lopsided smile to her direction, and the young woman excused herself gaily, floating in what may be euphoria over her just concluded work.
Keiko shivered. Did that young, queer woman just wink at her in a not-so-friendly manner?
The bride grumbled. Maybe it was wedding jitters, after all.
Keiko had met her fiancé through a college friend, whom she had briefly had a stupid crush on but had now translated into an unparalleled chemistry called friendship. The fellowship - as she called her college friends and the extended acquaintances - had immediately taken to him, calling him cute (she had looked at her friend who had said that aloud, scandalized; he was many things but not cute!) and easy on the eye.
Her to-be-fiancé had immediately taken an interest on her. And Keiko found herself falling for him early into the courtship; who wouldn’t, really, when he had waited for her at the university gates for one whole day just to ask if she’d have a moment to spare for a talk, only to be shocked at his apparent reservation to ask her out in the presence of their friends? It was rather cute, in her opinion, and in her friends’ opinion too, after she had retold the account; she had thought it was the most sincere thing that any guy had ever done for her.
It had been pretty obvious that her boyfriend was taking their relationship seriously, and while it made Keiko immensely happy, there was a lingering doubt at the back of her mind about just how much she would be willing to give up for him. Sure, he was sweet, and lavished her with gifts and fancy dinners, and invited and escorted her to the many functions that he had been needed in, which grew frequent the minute he graduated from university and took on the family business.
Where he had lacked in time to spend with her the past few years of their relationship he had made up with by sending her little trinkets and presents and hours on phone calls and the rare gift of sending her a ticket to have a weekend off in Bali, and Keiko had tried, really, to be happy and to be understanding of the sudden demands of his job, but deep inside she could feel the distance between them growing even more wider despite his attempt to stay in touch.
But when he had proposed over a family dinner in a most fashionable way Keiko found herself accepting it; pushing that doubt deep inside her heart and masking it with a smile as bright as the diamond on the engagement ring he had slipped on her finger that she could have fooled even herself.
Megumi watched her friend self-consciously adjust the veil on top of her hair; she was absolutely beautiful, as usual.
“Keiko,” the young woman approached her friend, and pretty much tried to engulf her into a hug despite the massive layers of robes the bride wore and the not-so-slight protrusion of her own belly. “My, aren’t you just stunning!”
Keiko was brought out of her reverie as familiar warmth enveloped her, and a tiny bump rubbing against her arm. “I’ll have to say the same to you, Megu-chan, it’s been a while!” She squeezed back just a little, mindful of the life that was growing within her friend. “And how are the Yokoyamas faring?”
“Same, same. Nothing much has changed. Except maybe this little thing that’s growing heavier with each passing day?” The slightly older woman laughed; a hand waving in the air as she fanned herself slightly, the heat getting to her. “Yuu’s busy trying to teach little Kimimaro how to play soccer, but I swear all he is achieving is teaching my angel how to become a little hoodlum.” Megumi scowled a little at the thought, the expression deepening as she stared at where her husband and their first child were seated, with Yuu leaning over the little monster and whispering into his ear in a seemingly conspiratorial way.
She completely missed the pensive, faraway look that took over the bride’s façade.
She had bumped into him in a watch shop at Aoyama Hills.
And while she had never been prone to being rendered speechless, or being reduced into a gaping fangirl (no, she was in no way a fangirl, in any shape or form, thank you very much), but one would always have their unguarded moments. Like That Fateful Day, for one.
She had been looking around the store listlessly, already immune to the attention that the store attendant would be giving her - who wouldn’t, really, she was Kitagawa Keiko, and news of her engagement to the elite businessman and former number one bachelor Kamenashi Kazuya almost a year ago had just about catapulted her meager beginnings of modeling for a teen magazine into a life under the spotlight at every twist and turn.
With it came the attention, however unwanted it may be, but she had learned to accept it - with Kazuya’s growing ambition of gaining a seat in the Japanese Diet (in particular in the House of Representatives; all as a move for his father to gain another supporter in his career and increase the chances of securing the appointment of the Diet as the next Prime Minister) and her sudden rise to superstardom, it was almost sacrilege to not know who the Japanese media dubbed as the next Hatoyama Miyuki.(1)
So it was that she had smiled pleasantly at the attendant who had been trying to present her with a dazzling watch (tagged with equally-dazzling zeroes) while her intended got busy with charming the pants off the other store attendant, and not realizing how, in the process of subtly trying to brush the persistent store attendant off, she had bumped into the man who had been retrieving his purchase from the cashier attendant.
Keiko was no fan girl (as stated earlier) but for some reason she stood there, gaping like a fish, as the person she bumped into just chuckled at her, waving her sorry away with his own apology without quivering or getting starstrucked at her mere presence.
It was even a wonder how, as she stared off at the retreating figure of the tall, good-looking young man she had accidentally run into, her hand trembled with the notion that those guilty fingers had hurriedly written her number at the back of his receipt - 813658941 - call me - before he went out of the shop… before Kazuya could catch her in the act.
Minutes after and Keiko had been swept into a lavish dinner with her fiancé, dining on fillet mignon and smiling pleasantly at her companion while her mind wandered to the stranger she had impulsively taken an interest on.
Their first decent conversation had been awkward, it being over the phone and she had been lying on her bed with her wedding checklist laid out on the sheets like a constant reminder of her current status in life, but it had eased into a comfortable one towards the end, both of them retelling stories like they had friends for a long time, giggling over things they both found silly, talking from midnight ‘til dawn like two highschoolers in love.
They had agreed to go out for a drink at an izakaya in Shibuya the next day.
They had talked and talked, of random things like how the moon was sometimes red, or how Mahayana Buddhism was more attractive to North Asians because of their family-oriented and nuclear society, or about how the kanji for water can easily be turned into ice in one stroke, or how Rolls-Royce would be a tongue twister if you repeated it more than enough.
And they agreed to meet up again, and again, sooner, and it was just like every other meet-up that they’ve had, full of insights and jokes and situation games. Even if all she knew about him was his first name and his profession (a senior law student in Aoyama Gakuin), and his stories about his best friend who was smart enough to get honours during graduation but stupid enough to get tricked into doing the laundry for the whole gang and cried like a little girl who had lost her teddy bear.
Perhaps there was one time that Keiko had drunk too much - and maybe so had he, he had let her know that he had very little alcohol tolerance - that they had ended up in her apartment, tearing at each other’s clothes before even closing her apartment door and ending up in bed the next day, limbs tangled under a heap of blankets and comforter.
As Shigeaki threw his legs to the side of the bed and got up, walked into the bathroom to take a shower before he went to his morning classes, Keiko’s mobile phone buzzed with a message from her fiancé - oh, good heavens, she had a fiancé, how had she forgotten? - telling her that he was back from his business trip at Yogyakarta.
That night, Kazuya came over with more news about their wedding, and Keiko felt, for the first time, reluctant at the thought of wearing that beautiful wedding dress she had seen at the wedding shop.
It was just a small affair, despite Kazuya’s family’s celebrity status, and there had only been a few people invited to the wedding. It amazed Keiko how things had panned out just as he had planned.
Too perfect, she told herself, observing the few men in suits who were assigned to secure the perimeter.
Her father now stood beside her, taking her arm and squeezing it lightly; a comforting gesture. She turned a grateful smile at him as the wedding march started, and they walked down the aisle, slowly and surely. As the reached the end of the aisle, Keiko’s father’s hand patted her arm with finality - a gesture of farewell - before shaking the groom’s hand, and, with a loving buss at her cheek, Keiko felt herself being transferred to Kazuya’s arms, like some valuable property being traded off for something better.
The thought left a bitter after taste in her mouth, even if it was a far cry from the truth. She knew her parents did not treat her as a property.
And then, Keiko looked up at Kazuya… and was not surprised at the lack of emotions in his gaze.
For a fleeting moment, Keiko wondered if Kazuya knew what was going on in her mind, or if he, too, was feeling a little doubtful at what they are about to get themselves into.
The bride looked around at the faces of the guests, all beaming expectantly at them. The small smile on her face dropped as Kazuya led her up to face the minister.
With an air of resignation, Keiko sighed. It really was better not to get her hopes up when he promised her short of nothing.
His arms were warm around her naked form under the blanket, and his body still radiated the heat from their lovemaking. A soft, feather-light kiss was placed on her temple.
“Sometimes, when I watch you sleep, I would wonder: Does her soul travel to Venus?” Shigeaki murmured; his breath hot against her still sweaty skin.
“Hm?”
“Or that maybe, you’ve known some celebrity in your past life and you’re contemplating on making a movie with them.”
“Maybe,” Came her non-committal answer, airy and humorous, as Keiko untangled one of his hands from its hold, only to bring it to her lips. “Just as perhaps, you were a eunuch for the Imperial Court and I, one of the court ladies. We could’ve been part of each other’s lives in the past, after all.”
“Sometimes, I wonder too… Does Keiko think of me?” The hand fell away from her kiss and went back to securing them around her form, tightening ever-so-slightly.
Her eyebrows furrowed. “What?” She had no idea where this conversation was heading.
“Whenever we touch… I can’t help but wonder, do you think of me, and not him?”
Ah, Keiko thought, finally understanding his sudden penchant for melancholy. She turned in his arms to face him, eyeing him lovingly; her hand crawling and resting softly on where she all too well knew the huge tail of the tattoo that spanned his back ended.
Shigeaki, her dear, dear Shigeaki, was actually part of Nitouryuu, the Two-Headed Dragon - a yakuza group that had dealings with perhaps everyone and everything that happened in Japan. Maybe even with the Kamenashi business, too, but Keiko couldn’t exactly say if it was true, and Shigeaki had not been privy to questions regarding his real profession.
After a few moments of her staring into his dark, dark eyes, the young woman finally sighed, one hand caressing his cheek while the other continued to trace at his tattoo. “Sometimes, I wonder, had I met you prior to that run-in in Aoyama, would I be lying here, giddy and crazy enough to entertain the thought of calling off my own wedding?”
It lasted perhaps one or two seconds before Shige leaned down to touch his forehead against hers. “Sometimes, I wonder… If maybe I could just abduct you from your wedding and whisk you off to some faraway place where the sun would greet your face a lovely morning every single day…”
Keiko’s heart skipped a beat or two. I-is he-?
Shige took her silence as his cue and crushed his lips onto hers, his calloused right hand threading through his lover’s hair as he tried to communicate what he could never bring himself to say aloud without stuttering like a fool.
They parted after a few minutes, breathing heavily, “Whisk me away, you say? And make me have the sun for breakfast?” Keiko managed to say, a smirk on her lips. “It would burn my taste buds, so thanks, but no thanks, buddy boy.”
At Shige’s embarrassed grumbling, Keiko threw her head back and laughed out loud.
Definitely too much to hope for, Keiko lamented internally, as she remembered the last words she had told him. It was an effort to clear the tense air between them that night, and, knowing how Shigeaki took her words too seriously most of the time… It burst her happy, I-hope-it’d-happen bubble.
Was she just another fling to Shigeaki? Keiko couldn’t really accept that; not when Shige had confessed just how he pretty much failed at picking a girl up whenever his comrades from Nitouryuu got together and made a bet during their nights out. He either came on too strong or was just too drunk to make a complete pass at a prospect, and really, Keiko could imagine him failing spectacularly.
But what was she to him, really? A game? Just another notch on his belt? Another conquest that he could forget the moment he willed himself to do so? The mere thought made tears spring into her eyes, and Keiko hastily steeled her emotions. Not in front of the congregation would she cry.
What sounded like a group of big motorbikes roared in the distance, and Keiko could not help but perk up - weren’t the Nitouryuu bike riders? - Again, she looked around, unmindful of the strange looks she had been getting from the minister at her lack of attention on the ceremonies, but at that point, she could care less. Not when the possibility of Shige actually sweeping her off her feet and into that faraway place he had been talking about was so very close.
She half-expected Shige to open the double doors and walk in, the metal straps in his leather boots clinking while he strode towards the front to demand that the wedding be stopped, hair in a ridiculous pompadour that Keiko caught him putting his hair into one time.
And the motorbikes sped past the hall, just as fast as the sound had approached.
Keiko felt her heart drop to her stomach in disappointment. This is it, she laughed at herself bitterly for even entertaining the thought of walking out of her own wedding day. Shoulders shaking visibly as she took a huge breath of courage, Keiko turned from the doors and back to the minister, who was then glad that he now had her undivided attention.
Only for the said double doors to open loudly and for gunshots to resonate in the hall.
Keiko immediately sprang to her feet and turned around, expecting Shige to be striding in with his red jacket draped on his shoulders, but what greeted her vision was just as equally assuring.
Nishikido Ryo stood in the middle of the aisle, a shotgun in his hand as he shouted above the ensuing chaos, ordering that everyone calm down while his arm was wrapped around a bystander’s neck; his hostage. At the door, Masuda Takahisa - her classmate from middle school and friend of Shigeaki’s, what a small world, really - was blocking the entrance together with some other members of Nitouryuu.
The smile broke out from her lips even more as she saw Koyama Keiichiro stand up from the second pew (she hadn’t even noticed!), a gun aimed at the temple of one of the men in suits who was part of the few security men mingling with the spectators, while Notti and Uchi rounded the perimeter with few others in tow, confiscating the fired arms from the men in suits.
And from behind Kazuya stood Yamashita-kun, her classmate from the university and, ironically, the one who had introduced her to Kazuya, face covered in a mask as he made his revolver’s cool, metal mouth kiss the groom’s neck. She would know those eyes from anywhere.
Keiko tried to smile at Yamashita but to her surprise, a hand had grabbed her from behind and had covered her mouth.
When Keiko had been pulled away from the public eye and back into the hallways the hand covering her mouth was soon replaced by a pair of warm lips, and before she could even respond to the intimate gesture while her mind clicked everything together, the earth had moved beneath her feet and she had been whisked into his lanky arms, in a flurry of white clothing called her wedding dress and trail.
Breathless and a little frazzled, Keiko responded, “You came!”
Smiling but not quite looking at her yet, Shigeaki proceeded to glance behind them as they ran, but not forgetting to chuckle at her words. “You thought I wouldn’t come, didn’t you?”
The underlying meaning in his words did not escape Keiko. I won’t lose you to him. It made her eyes water.
Just a little.
Her gloved arms reached up and slipped around his neck, but not before ripping away the extremely long and atrociously cumbersome veil - surprisingly, it did come off quite easily, like the queer stylist had predicted… Keiko drew back a little from Shigeaki, face dawning with realization at the smudge of what seemed like foundation that had been rubbed off under his jaw.
“You,” she stared at him, a gloved finger poking at his cheek, “you did my hair, didn’t yo-idiot, don’t you dare drop me!” Keiko immediately hooked her arm around his neck, tightly, drawing close to him but choosing to maintain a little distance as she watched his reaction. Her expression bloomed into a silly smile at the redness on his cheeks. “Oh you silly, silly thing…”
“Shut up,” Shigeaki grumbled, although smilingly, at the weight on his arms.
The exit was only a few paces away, and already, Tegoshi Yuuya was gesturing at him to hurry up.
Ryo was a few meters behind him, he was sure; the barely-concealed snicker from a while ago when Keiko brought up the incident with the hairdresser was unmistakable. But he made good with his task of covering for him while he escaped with the runaway bride in his arms, and that’s all that mattered right now.
Keiko was sure she had left the whole wedding hall in a bewildered state, but she was beyond caring now. Her most pressing concern was how to ride with Shige on his Harley without ruining her dress. It was a dress she had bought with her own money, after all, no matter how Kazuya may have insisted on paying for it.
But somehow it all worked out after she had gotten rid of her long trail on their way out, and the volume of cloth between her legs and the motorbike was now immaterial as Shigeaki placed her gently on the passenger seat and proceeded to get on the bike; it only seemed natural that Keiko would place her arms around him while the motor revved up.
Shige did not even wait for the rest of Nitouryuu to show up and get out as he made a beeline for the exit towards the freeway; the rest were already hot on their trail, making their escape before the police were notified of what had transpired at the wedding hall.
The feel of the wind whipping against her skin made Keiko smile and made her tighten her arms around her lover, smiling giddily as she felt around his belt.
“Oi, what are you-whoa-!”
She shrieked when the motor swerved dangerously, dipping low and close to the pavement. “Shige, you fool, be careful!” She screamed at him.
“But you just grabbed my... my-!!” He shouted back, red in the face. “That’s hardly appropriate, not to mention very dangerous, Kei-”
But Keiko had already felt around him again and Shige had stiffened and the bike had once again swerved ominously, though Shige had regained their balance as his mind registered that her nimble fingers had closed in on something else.
Keiko drew the gun from his holster and pointed it up to the sky, pulling the trigger twice, screaming like a school girl on a roller coaster ride and laughing hysterically at the sight they made.
At the many gunshot responses that she got from the member of Nitouryuu, Shigeaki broke into a grin, nabbing his gun from Keiko and pulled on the trigger himself, foot hitting the gas full on.
And as the gunshots sounded off and the sirens rang far away in the distance, the couple sped off to the rest of their lives.
-end-
NOTES:
(1)Hatoyama Miyuki - current First Lady of Japan; wife to Prime Minister Hatoyama Yukio. Former Takarazuka Venue member, and just about known for being the first ever quirky First Lady Japan had ever produced. Succeeding quips about her can be seen in the fic, if you blink hard enough. ^^
From: frostbittenlove
Title: Like a Warm Buttered Gun
Pairing: Kato Shigeaki x Kitagawa Keiko
Rating: PG-13
Summary: [AU] Kato Shigeaki did the unthinkable, but Keiko, being Keiko, begged to differ - it wasn’t unthinkable, it was just imperative.
A/N: Written for koneho. Because we both agree that Shige needs to be winsome in life, too. I hope it’s not OOC for your tastes. ;A; Many thanks go out to my wonderful betas, R, K and C.
She sat on the soft chair, watching her reflection, her dainty hands fiddling with the lace fabric of her gloves as a young woman fussed over her hair and two others ran around in circles behind her to arrange the long, flowing trail, their actions reflective of the storm that went on in her mind.
The stylist was gushing at her and she could only throw in a small smile; the other patting her bare shoulder lightly at the sight of her apprehension. It’d be over and done with soon, she had said, a seemingly-knowing smile on her young face, completely misunderstanding her growing restlessness for wedding jitters.
Keiko vaguely wondered, really, if this woman knew just what the feeling of a to-be-wedded person would be, when she looked, well, gay. Not to be discriminating, but she had, frankly, not heard of a homosexual getting married. Not in Japan, at least.
She had been a bit doubtful of her (his?) sudden appearance in her designated dressing room, bumbling on and about how she was the replacement sent by the stylist she had enlisted first-hand who had a freak accident with a rolling pin and some measuring cups, but her original stylist had phoned in to verify her claims - and so at the last minute, she had been placed in the newbie’s care. Keiko had almost panicked.
Almost.
Because no matter how dubious she had initially seemed, the young wo-stylist had done her part brilliantly - her hair had been styled into a fashionable bun that allowed room for her slender neck to be exposed by her off-shouldered, off-white, lace dress. “So you can take off that hideously long trail of yours easily,” the stylist continued, eyebrows waggling, and it took all of her willpower not to punch the living daylights out of the callous young woman, because oh dear, she did not just outright lambaste her choice of clothing, or did she?
But then again, it’s pretty normal to make small talk. (And equally abnormal to aggravate the bride on her wedding day, but this young stylist was far from normal, in her opinion.)
So instead, she merely shrugged; a cross between a scowl and a smile on her lips. “Thanks.” She gritted out, hoping it was enough to get the other off her case.
“Ah, so beautiful~” A sigh, “You’re too beautiful for him!” and then she threw a wink with a lopsided smile to her direction, and the young woman excused herself gaily, floating in what may be euphoria over her just concluded work.
Keiko shivered. Did that young, queer woman just wink at her in a not-so-friendly manner?
The bride grumbled. Maybe it was wedding jitters, after all.
Keiko had met her fiancé through a college friend, whom she had briefly had a stupid crush on but had now translated into an unparalleled chemistry called friendship. The fellowship - as she called her college friends and the extended acquaintances - had immediately taken to him, calling him cute (she had looked at her friend who had said that aloud, scandalized; he was many things but not cute!) and easy on the eye.
Her to-be-fiancé had immediately taken an interest on her. And Keiko found herself falling for him early into the courtship; who wouldn’t, really, when he had waited for her at the university gates for one whole day just to ask if she’d have a moment to spare for a talk, only to be shocked at his apparent reservation to ask her out in the presence of their friends? It was rather cute, in her opinion, and in her friends’ opinion too, after she had retold the account; she had thought it was the most sincere thing that any guy had ever done for her.
It had been pretty obvious that her boyfriend was taking their relationship seriously, and while it made Keiko immensely happy, there was a lingering doubt at the back of her mind about just how much she would be willing to give up for him. Sure, he was sweet, and lavished her with gifts and fancy dinners, and invited and escorted her to the many functions that he had been needed in, which grew frequent the minute he graduated from university and took on the family business.
Where he had lacked in time to spend with her the past few years of their relationship he had made up with by sending her little trinkets and presents and hours on phone calls and the rare gift of sending her a ticket to have a weekend off in Bali, and Keiko had tried, really, to be happy and to be understanding of the sudden demands of his job, but deep inside she could feel the distance between them growing even more wider despite his attempt to stay in touch.
But when he had proposed over a family dinner in a most fashionable way Keiko found herself accepting it; pushing that doubt deep inside her heart and masking it with a smile as bright as the diamond on the engagement ring he had slipped on her finger that she could have fooled even herself.
Megumi watched her friend self-consciously adjust the veil on top of her hair; she was absolutely beautiful, as usual.
“Keiko,” the young woman approached her friend, and pretty much tried to engulf her into a hug despite the massive layers of robes the bride wore and the not-so-slight protrusion of her own belly. “My, aren’t you just stunning!”
Keiko was brought out of her reverie as familiar warmth enveloped her, and a tiny bump rubbing against her arm. “I’ll have to say the same to you, Megu-chan, it’s been a while!” She squeezed back just a little, mindful of the life that was growing within her friend. “And how are the Yokoyamas faring?”
“Same, same. Nothing much has changed. Except maybe this little thing that’s growing heavier with each passing day?” The slightly older woman laughed; a hand waving in the air as she fanned herself slightly, the heat getting to her. “Yuu’s busy trying to teach little Kimimaro how to play soccer, but I swear all he is achieving is teaching my angel how to become a little hoodlum.” Megumi scowled a little at the thought, the expression deepening as she stared at where her husband and their first child were seated, with Yuu leaning over the little monster and whispering into his ear in a seemingly conspiratorial way.
She completely missed the pensive, faraway look that took over the bride’s façade.
She had bumped into him in a watch shop at Aoyama Hills.
And while she had never been prone to being rendered speechless, or being reduced into a gaping fangirl (no, she was in no way a fangirl, in any shape or form, thank you very much), but one would always have their unguarded moments. Like That Fateful Day, for one.
She had been looking around the store listlessly, already immune to the attention that the store attendant would be giving her - who wouldn’t, really, she was Kitagawa Keiko, and news of her engagement to the elite businessman and former number one bachelor Kamenashi Kazuya almost a year ago had just about catapulted her meager beginnings of modeling for a teen magazine into a life under the spotlight at every twist and turn.
With it came the attention, however unwanted it may be, but she had learned to accept it - with Kazuya’s growing ambition of gaining a seat in the Japanese Diet (in particular in the House of Representatives; all as a move for his father to gain another supporter in his career and increase the chances of securing the appointment of the Diet as the next Prime Minister) and her sudden rise to superstardom, it was almost sacrilege to not know who the Japanese media dubbed as the next Hatoyama Miyuki.(1)
So it was that she had smiled pleasantly at the attendant who had been trying to present her with a dazzling watch (tagged with equally-dazzling zeroes) while her intended got busy with charming the pants off the other store attendant, and not realizing how, in the process of subtly trying to brush the persistent store attendant off, she had bumped into the man who had been retrieving his purchase from the cashier attendant.
Keiko was no fan girl (as stated earlier) but for some reason she stood there, gaping like a fish, as the person she bumped into just chuckled at her, waving her sorry away with his own apology without quivering or getting starstrucked at her mere presence.
It was even a wonder how, as she stared off at the retreating figure of the tall, good-looking young man she had accidentally run into, her hand trembled with the notion that those guilty fingers had hurriedly written her number at the back of his receipt - 813658941 - call me - before he went out of the shop… before Kazuya could catch her in the act.
Minutes after and Keiko had been swept into a lavish dinner with her fiancé, dining on fillet mignon and smiling pleasantly at her companion while her mind wandered to the stranger she had impulsively taken an interest on.
Their first decent conversation had been awkward, it being over the phone and she had been lying on her bed with her wedding checklist laid out on the sheets like a constant reminder of her current status in life, but it had eased into a comfortable one towards the end, both of them retelling stories like they had friends for a long time, giggling over things they both found silly, talking from midnight ‘til dawn like two highschoolers in love.
They had agreed to go out for a drink at an izakaya in Shibuya the next day.
They had talked and talked, of random things like how the moon was sometimes red, or how Mahayana Buddhism was more attractive to North Asians because of their family-oriented and nuclear society, or about how the kanji for water can easily be turned into ice in one stroke, or how Rolls-Royce would be a tongue twister if you repeated it more than enough.
And they agreed to meet up again, and again, sooner, and it was just like every other meet-up that they’ve had, full of insights and jokes and situation games. Even if all she knew about him was his first name and his profession (a senior law student in Aoyama Gakuin), and his stories about his best friend who was smart enough to get honours during graduation but stupid enough to get tricked into doing the laundry for the whole gang and cried like a little girl who had lost her teddy bear.
Perhaps there was one time that Keiko had drunk too much - and maybe so had he, he had let her know that he had very little alcohol tolerance - that they had ended up in her apartment, tearing at each other’s clothes before even closing her apartment door and ending up in bed the next day, limbs tangled under a heap of blankets and comforter.
As Shigeaki threw his legs to the side of the bed and got up, walked into the bathroom to take a shower before he went to his morning classes, Keiko’s mobile phone buzzed with a message from her fiancé - oh, good heavens, she had a fiancé, how had she forgotten? - telling her that he was back from his business trip at Yogyakarta.
That night, Kazuya came over with more news about their wedding, and Keiko felt, for the first time, reluctant at the thought of wearing that beautiful wedding dress she had seen at the wedding shop.
It was just a small affair, despite Kazuya’s family’s celebrity status, and there had only been a few people invited to the wedding. It amazed Keiko how things had panned out just as he had planned.
Too perfect, she told herself, observing the few men in suits who were assigned to secure the perimeter.
Her father now stood beside her, taking her arm and squeezing it lightly; a comforting gesture. She turned a grateful smile at him as the wedding march started, and they walked down the aisle, slowly and surely. As the reached the end of the aisle, Keiko’s father’s hand patted her arm with finality - a gesture of farewell - before shaking the groom’s hand, and, with a loving buss at her cheek, Keiko felt herself being transferred to Kazuya’s arms, like some valuable property being traded off for something better.
The thought left a bitter after taste in her mouth, even if it was a far cry from the truth. She knew her parents did not treat her as a property.
And then, Keiko looked up at Kazuya… and was not surprised at the lack of emotions in his gaze.
For a fleeting moment, Keiko wondered if Kazuya knew what was going on in her mind, or if he, too, was feeling a little doubtful at what they are about to get themselves into.
The bride looked around at the faces of the guests, all beaming expectantly at them. The small smile on her face dropped as Kazuya led her up to face the minister.
With an air of resignation, Keiko sighed. It really was better not to get her hopes up when he promised her short of nothing.
His arms were warm around her naked form under the blanket, and his body still radiated the heat from their lovemaking. A soft, feather-light kiss was placed on her temple.
“Sometimes, when I watch you sleep, I would wonder: Does her soul travel to Venus?” Shigeaki murmured; his breath hot against her still sweaty skin.
“Hm?”
“Or that maybe, you’ve known some celebrity in your past life and you’re contemplating on making a movie with them.”
“Maybe,” Came her non-committal answer, airy and humorous, as Keiko untangled one of his hands from its hold, only to bring it to her lips. “Just as perhaps, you were a eunuch for the Imperial Court and I, one of the court ladies. We could’ve been part of each other’s lives in the past, after all.”
“Sometimes, I wonder too… Does Keiko think of me?” The hand fell away from her kiss and went back to securing them around her form, tightening ever-so-slightly.
Her eyebrows furrowed. “What?” She had no idea where this conversation was heading.
“Whenever we touch… I can’t help but wonder, do you think of me, and not him?”
Ah, Keiko thought, finally understanding his sudden penchant for melancholy. She turned in his arms to face him, eyeing him lovingly; her hand crawling and resting softly on where she all too well knew the huge tail of the tattoo that spanned his back ended.
Shigeaki, her dear, dear Shigeaki, was actually part of Nitouryuu, the Two-Headed Dragon - a yakuza group that had dealings with perhaps everyone and everything that happened in Japan. Maybe even with the Kamenashi business, too, but Keiko couldn’t exactly say if it was true, and Shigeaki had not been privy to questions regarding his real profession.
After a few moments of her staring into his dark, dark eyes, the young woman finally sighed, one hand caressing his cheek while the other continued to trace at his tattoo. “Sometimes, I wonder, had I met you prior to that run-in in Aoyama, would I be lying here, giddy and crazy enough to entertain the thought of calling off my own wedding?”
It lasted perhaps one or two seconds before Shige leaned down to touch his forehead against hers. “Sometimes, I wonder… If maybe I could just abduct you from your wedding and whisk you off to some faraway place where the sun would greet your face a lovely morning every single day…”
Keiko’s heart skipped a beat or two. I-is he-?
Shige took her silence as his cue and crushed his lips onto hers, his calloused right hand threading through his lover’s hair as he tried to communicate what he could never bring himself to say aloud without stuttering like a fool.
They parted after a few minutes, breathing heavily, “Whisk me away, you say? And make me have the sun for breakfast?” Keiko managed to say, a smirk on her lips. “It would burn my taste buds, so thanks, but no thanks, buddy boy.”
At Shige’s embarrassed grumbling, Keiko threw her head back and laughed out loud.
Definitely too much to hope for, Keiko lamented internally, as she remembered the last words she had told him. It was an effort to clear the tense air between them that night, and, knowing how Shigeaki took her words too seriously most of the time… It burst her happy, I-hope-it’d-happen bubble.
Was she just another fling to Shigeaki? Keiko couldn’t really accept that; not when Shige had confessed just how he pretty much failed at picking a girl up whenever his comrades from Nitouryuu got together and made a bet during their nights out. He either came on too strong or was just too drunk to make a complete pass at a prospect, and really, Keiko could imagine him failing spectacularly.
But what was she to him, really? A game? Just another notch on his belt? Another conquest that he could forget the moment he willed himself to do so? The mere thought made tears spring into her eyes, and Keiko hastily steeled her emotions. Not in front of the congregation would she cry.
What sounded like a group of big motorbikes roared in the distance, and Keiko could not help but perk up - weren’t the Nitouryuu bike riders? - Again, she looked around, unmindful of the strange looks she had been getting from the minister at her lack of attention on the ceremonies, but at that point, she could care less. Not when the possibility of Shige actually sweeping her off her feet and into that faraway place he had been talking about was so very close.
She half-expected Shige to open the double doors and walk in, the metal straps in his leather boots clinking while he strode towards the front to demand that the wedding be stopped, hair in a ridiculous pompadour that Keiko caught him putting his hair into one time.
And the motorbikes sped past the hall, just as fast as the sound had approached.
Keiko felt her heart drop to her stomach in disappointment. This is it, she laughed at herself bitterly for even entertaining the thought of walking out of her own wedding day. Shoulders shaking visibly as she took a huge breath of courage, Keiko turned from the doors and back to the minister, who was then glad that he now had her undivided attention.
Only for the said double doors to open loudly and for gunshots to resonate in the hall.
Keiko immediately sprang to her feet and turned around, expecting Shige to be striding in with his red jacket draped on his shoulders, but what greeted her vision was just as equally assuring.
Nishikido Ryo stood in the middle of the aisle, a shotgun in his hand as he shouted above the ensuing chaos, ordering that everyone calm down while his arm was wrapped around a bystander’s neck; his hostage. At the door, Masuda Takahisa - her classmate from middle school and friend of Shigeaki’s, what a small world, really - was blocking the entrance together with some other members of Nitouryuu.
The smile broke out from her lips even more as she saw Koyama Keiichiro stand up from the second pew (she hadn’t even noticed!), a gun aimed at the temple of one of the men in suits who was part of the few security men mingling with the spectators, while Notti and Uchi rounded the perimeter with few others in tow, confiscating the fired arms from the men in suits.
And from behind Kazuya stood Yamashita-kun, her classmate from the university and, ironically, the one who had introduced her to Kazuya, face covered in a mask as he made his revolver’s cool, metal mouth kiss the groom’s neck. She would know those eyes from anywhere.
Keiko tried to smile at Yamashita but to her surprise, a hand had grabbed her from behind and had covered her mouth.
When Keiko had been pulled away from the public eye and back into the hallways the hand covering her mouth was soon replaced by a pair of warm lips, and before she could even respond to the intimate gesture while her mind clicked everything together, the earth had moved beneath her feet and she had been whisked into his lanky arms, in a flurry of white clothing called her wedding dress and trail.
Breathless and a little frazzled, Keiko responded, “You came!”
Smiling but not quite looking at her yet, Shigeaki proceeded to glance behind them as they ran, but not forgetting to chuckle at her words. “You thought I wouldn’t come, didn’t you?”
The underlying meaning in his words did not escape Keiko. I won’t lose you to him. It made her eyes water.
Just a little.
Her gloved arms reached up and slipped around his neck, but not before ripping away the extremely long and atrociously cumbersome veil - surprisingly, it did come off quite easily, like the queer stylist had predicted… Keiko drew back a little from Shigeaki, face dawning with realization at the smudge of what seemed like foundation that had been rubbed off under his jaw.
“You,” she stared at him, a gloved finger poking at his cheek, “you did my hair, didn’t yo-idiot, don’t you dare drop me!” Keiko immediately hooked her arm around his neck, tightly, drawing close to him but choosing to maintain a little distance as she watched his reaction. Her expression bloomed into a silly smile at the redness on his cheeks. “Oh you silly, silly thing…”
“Shut up,” Shigeaki grumbled, although smilingly, at the weight on his arms.
The exit was only a few paces away, and already, Tegoshi Yuuya was gesturing at him to hurry up.
Ryo was a few meters behind him, he was sure; the barely-concealed snicker from a while ago when Keiko brought up the incident with the hairdresser was unmistakable. But he made good with his task of covering for him while he escaped with the runaway bride in his arms, and that’s all that mattered right now.
Keiko was sure she had left the whole wedding hall in a bewildered state, but she was beyond caring now. Her most pressing concern was how to ride with Shige on his Harley without ruining her dress. It was a dress she had bought with her own money, after all, no matter how Kazuya may have insisted on paying for it.
But somehow it all worked out after she had gotten rid of her long trail on their way out, and the volume of cloth between her legs and the motorbike was now immaterial as Shigeaki placed her gently on the passenger seat and proceeded to get on the bike; it only seemed natural that Keiko would place her arms around him while the motor revved up.
Shige did not even wait for the rest of Nitouryuu to show up and get out as he made a beeline for the exit towards the freeway; the rest were already hot on their trail, making their escape before the police were notified of what had transpired at the wedding hall.
The feel of the wind whipping against her skin made Keiko smile and made her tighten her arms around her lover, smiling giddily as she felt around his belt.
“Oi, what are you-whoa-!”
She shrieked when the motor swerved dangerously, dipping low and close to the pavement. “Shige, you fool, be careful!” She screamed at him.
“But you just grabbed my... my-!!” He shouted back, red in the face. “That’s hardly appropriate, not to mention very dangerous, Kei-”
But Keiko had already felt around him again and Shige had stiffened and the bike had once again swerved ominously, though Shige had regained their balance as his mind registered that her nimble fingers had closed in on something else.
Keiko drew the gun from his holster and pointed it up to the sky, pulling the trigger twice, screaming like a school girl on a roller coaster ride and laughing hysterically at the sight they made.
At the many gunshot responses that she got from the member of Nitouryuu, Shigeaki broke into a grin, nabbing his gun from Keiko and pulled on the trigger himself, foot hitting the gas full on.
And as the gunshots sounded off and the sirens rang far away in the distance, the couple sped off to the rest of their lives.
-end-
NOTES:
(1)Hatoyama Miyuki - current First Lady of Japan; wife to Prime Minister Hatoyama Yukio. Former Takarazuka Venue member, and just about known for being the first ever quirky First Lady Japan had ever produced. Succeeding quips about her can be seen in the fic, if you blink hard enough. ^^